


invite the light (when blood stains blondes tonight)

by emptycokebottles



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:39:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptycokebottles/pseuds/emptycokebottles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His kisses always tasted of blood and stupidity. (and a little like hope)</p>
            </blockquote>





	invite the light (when blood stains blondes tonight)

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'ed. General apology for fucking with the English language, it's a second language to me, yadda yadda. I also have no idea how to tag things properly, so I'll give a warning for at bit of blood and grazes, mentions of violence and protest turned riots and that sort of thing. Also, what am I even doing with tenses in this story.  
> I own nothing.  
> The title is Blood Stainds (Stains? Stained? Why have I never figured out what this song is actually called?) Blondes by Deathstars, because it always made me think of Enjolras.

 

It had been hours past midnight when there was a knock on his door. He had been painting, drinking, worrying, not looking at the news. There had been a protest that day, he knew, and he didn't want to know about it, because it had gone wrong, he knew, he just _knew,_ because there had been no texts, no ”come have a drink!”, nothing but silence from his friends.

There was another knock and he put down the pencil, set the bottle next to the sketchbook on the coffeetable and went for the door.

No matter how many times this happened he never got used to the sight on the other side of the door. It didn't matter that this was a far cry from the worst time.

 

Enjolras was grinning. That (literally) bloody _idiot_ was grinning like he just had the time of his life, and then he moved and winched because he was _hurt_ and this was why protest were stupid, they were so stupid, because they were never peaceful, it always ended in a riot and didn't he _tell_ them? Yes he did, he told them everytime, stop being so naive, stop being so stupid and idealistic, nothing good ever comes from those protest.

He didn't say that. Of course he didn't. He just opened his door wider and turned his back on the blond, heading for the bathroom and the wipes, the disinfectant, the bandages, all the things he had started to stock there since Enjolras started showing up at his door step at ungodly hours, bloody and bruised and smiling with fury from the protest (the riot) he had just escaped from.

 

”Sit still,” he said as he kneeled down in front of the chair with a wet wipe in hand and the box on the floor beside him. Always wipe away the blood first to see how much damage is really done. 

He was bleeding from his eyebrow, his lip, his nose and his pants were torn to reveal a nasty graze, probably asphalt burn, on his knee and thigh, but he should be fine, nothing to harsh or deep or in need of stitches.

Enjolras winced when the disinfectant came into contact with the graze on his eyebrow. Grantaire ignored him in fevor of putting a tiny bandage there and gently touching his nose. ”Not broken,” he informed, knowing from experience on both others and himself how that would feel, and went to work with the leg. There was so much blood.

”This is going to hurt,” he said, keeping the liquid away from the graze for a moment.

”I _know_ ,” came the annoyed reply, like someone talking through his teeth, ”just do it.”

He knew Enjolras had screamed in surprise and hurt the first time someone treated him with liquid iodine. Since he had been trying to keep quiet, biting his lip to keep from doing the same thing again. Always so perfect, always in control.

 

Grantaire got up to get the other a drink, which he made a face of, and the cigarette he secretly knew he craved, before setting to work on the bandages. He would have to buy more soon by the way this was going. And more tape.

Enjolras greedily smokes the cigarette, not a trace of the shame that's normally associated with this habit of his that he hates. He even offers Grantaire a drag, which he waves away because he's busy fixing the tape, he's almost done and then he can have a cigarette of his own.

 

”Grantaire...” 

He looked up at the golden god sitting in front of him, looked into his beautiful eyes and he knew exactly how fucked up in love he was with this guy.

His kisses always tasted of blood and stupidity. (and a little like hope)

**Author's Note:**

> I'll just go hide in a corner and pretend nobody ever reads this. This is my first fandom work ever and I'm scared.


End file.
